Stage
by Liebling
Summary: ‘She just wanted to dance. She just wanted to be on stage.’ (Bella&Rudolphus)


A/N: Bellatrix/Rudolphus. I'm not so sure about this fic, it's odd and the theory behind it is odd as well. But I do enjoy it. Think of it what you will. Oh yes and Bells=Bella. =)  
  
Disclaimer: All JK's  
  
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It isn't a matter of love or not. It's a matter of needs and want and---other things.  
  
And the more they say it the more wrong it feels. The more they say it the more awful it makes them feel inside.  
  
But the more they say it, the more the lie goes on.  
  
"I love you."  
  
It's really wrong.  
  
She tries to be jealous of the girls' he flirts with. Young girls. In their young twenties, with flaxen blond hair and fancy handbags.  
  
She tries to be jealous, but she can't.  
  
Because you see, my friend, you can't be jealous of something--or someone-- that was never yours to begin with.  
  
They live in a silly cottage at the Forbidden Forests end. The very end, so no one ever sees it. Sometimes the students make it out there...but they never get out alive. It's too tough. The plants...the animals...the centaurs.  
  
The cottage is bare with not even a prayer is left for it.  
  
"Rudolphus," she says, "Rudolphus."  
  
"Yes, pet?"  
  
"Happy?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you happy?"  
  
"Of course, pet."  
  
"Are you lying to me?"  
  
"....yes. Aren't I supposed to?"  
  
"...yes."  
  
All lies. All accustom. She sighs and goes back to knitting or sewing or drinking peppermint tea, or sleeping.  
  
She goes back to nothing and he skims the paper and drinks his bitter coffee and everything's really normal.  
  
If you went to visit this cottage you'd see two people horrendously out of love but also two people who coexist nicely.   
  
...it's still lonely  
  
They sleep in a big bed with a flowered quilt and she faces one way and he faces the other and right before each goes to bed this happens:  
  
"Night, love," she whispers  
  
And the he whispers back, "Night, baby,"  
  
It's royally nice, even she admits it.  
  
She still wears the silver wedding band on her finger and he still rolls his eyes at it. He still says vague things about 'ancient' and 'poor' and 'totally unhappy.' She catches on, sighs, and says he needs to go to work...now.  
  
So he leaves, a brown-paper bag in his hand. She's packed his lunch. A ham and cheese sandwich, a cup 'o' chicken noodle soup, a few strawberries and a chocolate chip cookie. Or two, if he asks, and sometimes just 'cause she's in a good mood.  
  
"Bye, baby," he says with a short smile and a flagrant wink. He grabs his brown suede cloak from the hanger and turns on his heel.  
  
"Bye, love," she yells to the back of his head.  
  
He heard her.  
  
He goes off to work, or play, or whatever. He gets up on the stage located at the Three Broomsticks sometimes and he dances with all the ladies. It's a big stage, and he's so comfortable with it. I mean...too comfortable with it. So used to it. It's his one true love--the stage--Shakespeare--Voltaire--words, the English language. He waltzes and the girls' enjoy it, of course they do, and then he goes back behind the 'bar area' and fixes firewhiskey for people who have already been drunk the last hour.  
  
Once he even took her, and they waltzed and took up the whole stage. They were the life of the party, the two lovers, the two companions. They made a scene. They were a gorgeous couple. His arm firmly around her waist, her scarlet-tinted cheeks beaming up at him. And then at the end she curtseyed and he bowed and he held her in his arms, on the stage, and properly kissed her. Long and well.  
  
She always remembers it.  
  
Then they'd both have a shot or two of firewhiskey, become royally drunk and talk. She'd whisper things in his ear...silly things. "Kiss me," she'd say, and he would. Long and well. "Hold me," she'd say, and he'd do that as well. They were making a spectacle...they didn't care. These were better times, and she must've only been sixteen then. He must've been about eighteen. But we're unsure. But we know it was long long ago. When the sunlight shone purple mist and the people laughed and had far too much to drink.  
  
It hurts to think he does these things with other girls, but she's been hurt so much, she can't really feel it anymore. And she's at peace with the feeling that, well, what she had with Rudolphus was special and rare--and unusual and that April Night...that was something else altogether.  
  
He comes home late at night and she waits up for him like a Mummy would wait up for her child.  
  
"I'm home, baby," he says as he drops the remnants of his lunch down on the leather chair. "Been a long day," he says, "the usual."  
  
"Dance, any?"  
  
"A bit, never like it used to be though eh? Never like it was with you, love. Never."  
  
"...ever?"  
  
"Ever."  
  
"Well, I'm sure it was lovely."  
  
"Oh rest assured--it was."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Yeah, good. Anyway, I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed. Unless of course you wanted to...talk or something?"  
  
"No, no, nothing of the sort. I'll be up in a few."  
  
"Why don't you come up now?"  
  
"No."  
  
He sighs and takes off his green tie and goes up the rickety stairs to bed. She takes a sip of pumpkin tea and sits on the leather chair. He comes back down to check on her and she's fast asleep, he carries her up to bed.  
  
Later.  
  
"Baby...?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Want to come to the 'broomsticks, tonight?" Obviously referring to the Three Broomsticks.  
  
The stage.  
  
It was calling him, and if she was honest she must say it was calling her as well.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Come."  
  
"We were children then," she says, partly chastising him. "We were children, and it was nice but..."  
  
"But what?" He says, his voice getting slightly louder.  
  
"It's all so different now," she gestures wildly, "don't tell me you haven't noticed."  
  
"Oh I've noticed," he spats almost bitterly. "It was fun, Bells'. It was fun and it was lovely and..."  
  
"...and I can't do it anymore. You, you go out tonight and go on your stage and have a jolly ol' time, okay Rudolphus? Because I simply can't. Not tonight and maybe not ever again."  
  
"You wench."  
  
The words cut like blunt knives and she meets his stone eyes, he looks into her amethyst ones.  
  
"Bye," she says swiftly. "Bye."  
  
He slams the door and leaves.  
  
She just wanted to dance.  
  
She just wanted to be on stage.  
  
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La Fin 


End file.
